


Candlelit

by Zoeleo



Series: Rara Avis [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Big Brother Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Christmas, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Gen, Or Bruce adopts Jason but doesn't make him Robin, Religious Content, Snow, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-23 19:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17086262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoeleo/pseuds/Zoeleo
Summary: As the holidays approach Bruce contemplates the two boys he's taken under his roof and into his life. He's willing to do anything for them. Even if that means going some place he's never really considered before at the behest of his youngest. Christmas Eve, it seems is truly the time for miracles.





	Candlelit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nykyrianne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nykyrianne/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy Holidays. Wishing all of my readers the best this season. This probably won't be for everyone due to it's content (the batfam attends a Christmas Eve church service), but much like The Fishing Trip it pulls on a lot of special memories that are very dear to me. I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> A special thanks to the lovely Nykyrianne, who is always sweet enough to routinely check in on me after long bouts of absence. Hoping this brings you some of that Christmas magic you've been missing.
> 
> Also, does anyone have any interest in beta-ing for this series?

Bruce packs the snow into a tight ball. Tighter and tighter until it crumbles beneath his gloves and falls through his fingers. It's getting dark, the days are so short now. The glow from the manor's windows and porch light is brighter against his back than the sinking sun is on the horizon. He doesn't know why he's still out here.

Jason went back inside maybe half an hour ago. He'd had a hard time convincing the boy to come out at all. The manor grounds draped in glittering austere white did not fill his youngest with awe and delight, and even bundled up to the best of Alfred's abilities the little scamp had come out exactly long enough to help Bruce build a snowman before declaring it  _'too fucking cold'_ and running back inside as soon as they had placed the button eyes and carrot nose. He can't blame the boy. He would probably feel the same after spending a winter or two on Gotham's streets, where temperatures cold enough for snow meant cold enough to kill.

Still.

He misses days filled with building snow forts and the inevitable epic snowball battles that followed. He misses chasing a grinning blue-eyed child through the powder and tossing him into deep drifts (to his shrieking delight). He misses being that child sometimes too. His parents had loved the winter, frequently taking family vacations to Stowe, Aspen, and Vail. He'd learned to ski very nearly the moment he could walk. The cheek-chapping cold and twinkle of a pale winter sun on snow was its own kind of magic.

Magic that had been rekindled with Dick's arrival. Dick had loved the snow almost as much as he had as a child. Bruce huffs with quiet laughter remembering breaking icicles off the porch eaves to use as swords for impromptu duels, Dick's cry of ' _again, again, again!'_ until Bruce hauled the sled up to the top of the hill one more time, Alfred chasing after the little acrobat with the mittens and hat Dick had been to impatient to bother with before bounding into a wintry wonderland. 

He loves Jason; his spiky survivor with a sharp tongue but the softest heart Bruce has ever seen, constantly trying to conceal how much he cares. Bruce can't help but think that so much compassion would be a great quality in a Robin, that  _Jason_ would make a great Robin. Maybe one day, once they get him healthy and up to weight. He loves Jason, and he's perfectly happy curling up in the library whiling away the hours with him on a blanket by the fire reading. 

It's just... He misses  _this_. And having someone to enjoy it with. 

Alfred's hot chocolate always tastes better after coming in from the cold.

He picks up another handful of snow and mashes it into a solid sphere. With no one to throw it at he aims for the birdbath in front of the carriage house and allows his mouth to tick up in satisfaction at the bulls-eye hit. The snowball explodes against the granite, dusting the bushes around it with fine white flakes. He smacks his hands against his thigh with a resigned sigh and shakes them clean. He should probably head back inside. 

He makes to climb the front steps and freezes, head cocked with one ear towards the drive. A motor. He turns, blinking in surprise at the headlights wending their way up the lawn. A battered taxi-cab pulls into the circle looking out-of-place and Bruce wonders who on earth Alfred would let past the gates this close to dinner time on Christmas Eve. A pair of jean-clad legs unfold from the back seat.

"Dick?"

His oldest steps out of the cab and swings a duffle bag up onto his shoulder.

"Hey B."

"What are you—I thought you weren't coming until later?"

Dick pays the taxi driver with a generous tip for his troubles before answering, keeping his gaze on his shoes instead of meeting Bruce's. 

"Yeah well... I thought so too. But then it started snowing and I wanted to make sure I could get here before the roads got too bad and I was stuck spending Christmas in a DC bus terminal all day. Plus you know, knew it would make Alfred happy. And the kid isn't so bad."

He delivers the explanation with a nonchalant shrug that doesn't fool Bruce at all. Bruce rushes forward and pulls him into a hug. He can feel Dick tense in shock at the unexpected show of affection, doesn't let go. He's not the best at this, these types of emotional displays, especially after Dick left home with things between them strained and unresolved. But he thinks he's growing better at it. He's had to with Jason in the house, so pitifully starved for any scrap of tenderness.

"I'm sure Alfred will be thrilled. Jason too. As am... As am I," he murmurs into the leather of Dick's jacket collar because his oldest is a stupid sartorialist who apparently cares more about looking cool than actually dressing appropriately for the weather.

"Thanks, B. It's good to be home. I—”

Dick's voice mutates into a betrayed squawk at the handful of snow that's ruthlessly shoved under his collar.

"You—You jerk!” he screams as Bruce tears across the lawn and around the West wing of the house.

Even with all of the stealth training in the world it's hard to move through snow without it crunching under foot. Bruce is ready and waiting for him with an armful of snow when Dick rounds the corner, launching it into his face. Incensed, it doesn't take long before Dick retaliates in equal force. They race around the patio, dodging snow-heaped deck furniture and frigid projectiles in an all-out gelid  _guerra_. Dick manages to catch him right in the teeth with a snowball, but Bruce counters with a body-tackle into a snow pile, shoving another handful of ammo down the back of Dick's pants. In his haste to escape Dick slips on an icy paving-stone and bloodies his lip.

Like a shark drawn by the scent, a wrathful Alfred appears ordering an immediate non-debatable ceasefire, "You will stop this foolishness at once. Master Dick, what a pleasant surprise. Please see to that lip. If it drips, you will be the one cleaning the carpet. And both of you get in some dry clothes before you catch your deaths. Dinner will be on the table in five minutes."

Bruce and Dick duck their heads in shame, while Jason peeks at them from Alfred's elbow, nose scrunched in disgust.

"Sorry, Alfred," they chime at the same time.

Alfred huffs and steps back, allowing them entry. He raises one judgmental eyebrow when Dick cups his hand under his chin to prevent any leakage from marring his pristine floors.

Bruce keeps his eyes downcast trying to appear chastened but he can't quite muffle his chuckle when Jason scowls up at the valet and mutters, "What a bunch of lunatics. How do you put up with them Alfie?"

He covers it with a cough and climbs the stairs to change.

Dinner is a pleasant affair, though he feels a tiny stab of guilt every time he catches Dick wincing when bringing a hot spoonful of soup to his split lip. It's only stew and rolls tonight. They hadn't been expecting Dick and he's sure Alfred had exhausted himself today preparing the luxurious Christmas dinner for tomorrow. His eyes keep wandering from Dick to Jason to Alfred.He had been so afraid that Thanksgiving was a fluke, he hadn't wanted to push too hard in trying to get Dick to come home again so soon for Christmas as well. He's here though and for the second time in a long time the manor doesn't feel so empty. He wishes his parents could be here, to see the family he's somehow cobbled together after years of melancholic solitude. He can picture his mother leaning across the table to ask Dick about the classes he is taking, and his father humming thoughtfully as he humors Jason in a  _very serious_ debate over who would win in a hypothetical fight between Darth Vader and the Terminator.

It's a surprise when his spoon scrapes the ceramic of his empty bowl and jolts him out of the fantasy. A glance shows him the others have finished as well and he suppresses the urge to sigh when he sees Jason pocket a dinner roll with a bit of sleight-of-hand. No matter how often they tell him not to worry about food, that it will always be made available to him, never taken away - the message still hasn't seemed to have sunk in yet. 

He sets his spoon aside and asks, "So, since Dick is here, do you boys want to do anything special tonight?"

He's expecting something along the lines of popcorn and a Christmas movie. For many years the tradition was to camp out in the den and watch  _White Christmas_. Danny Kaye had been one of Dick's idols as a boy and Bruce can recall more than one occasion where the boy had parroted his lines and pantomimed his slapstick routines whilst in his pajamas. But it's Jason who speaks up first, voice high and hesitant.

"You mean we're not goin' to church?"

Based on the raised brows and wide eyes of Dick and Alfred, he's not the only one caught off guard. His parents hadn't been religious, aside from his mother lighting a menorah at Hanukkah every year. When he had asked her about it, she had smiled and said it helped her remember where she came from and her family's heritage. They'd celebrated Christmas as a family holiday and he'd never put much thought into it beyond that.

"Do... Do you  _want_ to go to church?" Bruce asks.

He racks his brains, unable to remember Jason ever expressing interest in going before. Certainly if he had, Bruce would have made arrangements. Then again, Jason is more reluctant than most to reveal things meaningful to him and Faith can be a sensitive subject. He doubts it's something the boy would bring up unless directly asked. Sure enough, sensing everyone's discomfit Jason clams up, tucking his chin to his chest and heaving the tiniest of shrugs.

"We don't have to. I just thought it's what people do on Christmas Eve. My mom used to—I didn't—It was a stupid idea. Sorry."

While Bruce fumbles for the right words, Dick heroically slides into the conversation. 

"It's not a stupid idea at all. We didn't go too often because we traveled so much with the circus, but if we were in town on a Sunday my parents always tried to make it mass. When we were in Gotham we'd go to the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart. What about you?"

"My mom took us to the Christmas Eve service at St. Paul's every year," Jason admits self-consciously. 

"That sounds nice. St. Paul's, that's only like three blocks from the Cathedral, right? Never been in there, but you know I wouldn't mind going to a service if it's not too late. Be nice for old time's sake," Dick smiles beatifically and turns to Bruce, "What do you say, would that be okay B?"

He nods earnestly to convey his gratitude for Dick's quick handling of the situation.

"Yes, we can do that. All together as a family. Alfred?"

"I'll ready the car as soon as the table is cleared," Alfred agrees, initiating a flurry of activity as they rush forward to accomplish the new mission goal. 

He grabs Dick by the sleeve once Jason exits the room to help Alfred with the dishes.

"I never knew your family went to church. I would have taken you if I had known it was important to you. Why didn't you say anything?"

Raising Jason has been an experience in its own right, but one of the less comfortable aspects of it is how sharply it has highlighted how incredibly unprepared and unqualified he'd been when he'd taken in Dick. He thought he'd done well enough back then, but now... Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Dick's easy smile fractures. He places a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Because I stopped believing in God the day my parents died. It didn't matter anymore after that. Don't worry about it."

Bruce worries about it.

 

 

Thirty minutes later Bruce Wayne finds himself in a church for the first time for something other than a wedding, funeral, christening, or investigating a cult. They make a slightly awkward procession into the church as they try to sidle into one of the back pews without causing too much interruption. No one seems to mind their late arrival and their ' _excuse me's_ ' are met with polite reassuring smiles. 

They would have made it on time but Jason had stalwartly insisted that dressing up in their finest was a prerequisite for attendance. Technically, Bruce's finest is a custom tailored midnight blue Kiton suit, but he gets away with a nice button-up shirt and slacks. Next to him, Jason keeps running his hands down the tie he  _begged_ Alfred to help him with (a miracle itself considering his usual dramatic aversion anytime Bruce has tried to force him into one), smoothing his hands down the silk strip as his eyes dart around the packed building. 

Bruce tugs lightly on his lapel and whispers, "Looking good Jay-lad."

Jason beams up him and Bruce undoes one of the buttons at his collar, chest feeling too-tight. It's true. His entire family looks good. They fit right into the happy tableau amongst all of the other families there, even if Bruce has no idea what's going on. They sing a few songs out of a hymnal Jason hands him from a shelf built into the back of the pew in front of them and then there's a call-and-response portion he stumbles through, relying on Jason's help again as the boy points to the lines printed in a program. He's glad at least one of them knows what they're doing, though Dick and Alfred seem to be handling themselves well. It's a relief when the congregation sits. He goes to stand again when Jason bounces up but is held back by Dick's hand on his knee.

"Calm down, B," his oldest settles him with kind amusement.

He sinks down, vaguely embarrassed when he realizes it's only the children the priest has called to join him up by the altar. The priest sits down on the floor with the children gathered around him in a semi-circle and opens his bible and begins to read.

" _In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. And everyone went to his own town to register..._ "

The words fade into the background as he picks Jason's face out of the group. Always aware of leaving his back vulnerable, the boy has angled himself to one side, allowing Bruce to study his expression. It's as joyful and rapt as any time Bruce has read with him from a copy of  _Robinson Crusoe_ or  _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_. He had thought maybe Jason's zeal to conquer the manor library was out of a dogged determination to bring his reading skills up in time to enroll in school next semester, but now he realizes it's the stories themselves Jason so dearly loves. 

Bruce's parents weren't religious but he distantly remembers his grandmother making them wait until after praying to eat. She died when he was very young, but he's sure she had a bible she read from. It's somewhere in the manor still.

The priest finishes the tale of the nativity and hands out candy canes to each of the children before sending them back to sit with their families. Jason squeezes down the row into place between Bruce and Dick with a smile. The sermon and Eucharist are short and though Bruce can't find it in him to believe, there is something about an innocent child born and raised to die so that the world might be saved that has him tucking both of his boys more tightly against his side. The thought of losing either of them hollows him out. Doubt takes hold as he thinks of Dick putting his life on the line every night he dons the mask, of Jason taking up the mantle of Robin one day...

Dick elbows him gently, concern on his face as he tries to pass him a box full of candles. Bruce nods his thanks and pulls one out, a short stubby thing with a cheap wax paper ring around the base meant to shield the fingers from hot drips of wax, then passes the box onto the person beside him in turn. Ushers light the first candle at the end of each pew and then that candle is held to the wick of the next until the whole congregation is aflame. The lights are turned off and the church is lit only by a gentle sea of glimmering candlelight. It's quiet and beautiful and holy in a way he can't fully understand. Then a voice begins singing, unsteadily at first but growing in confidence as others join in.

_Silent night, holy night,_

_All is calm, all is bright,_

_Round yon virgin mother and child,_

_Holy infant, so tender and mild,_

_Sleep in heavenly peace,_

_Sleep in heavenly peace._

The lights ease back on and everyone extinguishes their candles, dumping them back in the same cardboard box that makes its way around a second time. There's a soft murmur as people get ready to leave, the rustle of fabric as they pull on coats and scarves, share hugs over the aisles, and exchange greetings in sotto - no one willing to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. Bruce and Dick wait for Alfred to finish helping Jason thread his mitten-covered hands through his coat sleeves before filing towards the door.

"You know, that wasn't half bad," Dick quips as they shuffle out of the big front doors.

"I liked it," Jason hedges defensively, looking down at the candy cane he'd been given.

"The music and the candles made for quite a beautiful service," Alfred agrees.

"Do you think we could come again for Easter?" Jason asks, looking up at him as they descend the steps to the sidewalk. "They have a picnic and an Easter egg hunt after the service and anyone can come. You don't have to—to be like an official member or dress fancy. And they let you keep whatever candy you find.”

He gnaws on his lip, worried more about burying his obvious earnestness than where he's going. Bruce shoots out a hand before he can fall, grabbing his jacket collar when his foot misses a step.

"We can come back whenever you'd like," Bruce promises, hauling him back to surer footing.

The ride home is quiet. It gives him time to put some pieces of tonight's puzzle together. He pictures Catherine dragging Jason to church when she could, maybe sitting in the far back, fear of someone noticing their wardrobe of Goodwill donations warring with the relief at securing a warm haven for her son for the next couple hours. He wonders how many times Jason's stomach was filled thanks to a church picnic. 

It's snowing again, the flakes move in whorls over the salted asphalt and build up along the bottom go the windows. Jason and Dick play tic-tac-toe on the glass, breathing foggy condensation over the pane then drawing their fingers through it. Alfred will make them wipe the prints off in the morning. Dick has won three times more than Jason by the time they pull into the garage and Jason's frustration is starting to show, snarling under his breath as the older boy smirks.

When they unload Bruce takes Jason by the shoulder before it escalates into a petty brawl. Today has been too good to end in ruin thanks to a bout of sibling rivalry. Jason tenses at the touch and looks up at him uncertainly. Bruce can't wait for the day when he doesn't react that way. He withdraws his hand and tilts his jaw to indicate the way to the library. 

"Would you come with me for a minute? I'd like to show you something special."

Jason glances to Alfred and Dick first, then shrugs and follows. When they step inside the library, Bruce bypasses the usual shelves, going directly to the fireplace mantle behind his father's old desk. Lined up on the mantle are all of the family heirlooms bound in leather: photo albums, scrapbooks, the Wayne family genealogy, and an assortment of family bibles with wedding and baptism dates inscribed on the flyleaves. His finger hovers over a small blue one he recognizes, the silver letters on its cover almost worn away with use.

He had capitulated to Alfred's suggestion that they limit themselves to a maximum of three gifts per person this year. It had been difficult and he'd hated every minute of it. With as much money as he has access to, giving gifts is one of the easiest ways for him to show his affection and appreciation. He had loved showering gifts on Dick as a child and spending Christmas morning testing each and every toy out under a mountain of torn giftwrap. It felt unfair not to do the same with Jason and he had gritted his teeth at every forced step away from window displays full of things Jason would love. After the fiasco at Thanksgiving though, he had to agree with Alfred that it would be best to avoid overwhelming their newest family member like that again.

Technically this would violate the three gift rule.

His finger hooks on the top of the book and pulls it off the mantle. In this case, he thinks Alfred will forgive him. He turns the small book over in his hands. Even after all these years it still smells faintly of rose water. He holds it out to Jason.

"This bible was my grandmother's. When I was young she would sometimes read me the stories in it: Noah's Ark, the Tower of Babel, Daniel in the Lion's Den... I'd like for you to have it."

Jason stares at the book with unconcealed awe, one hand absently reaching for it. He snaps it back and shakes his head.

"I can't take that. It's too important for you to give away. Too nice."

Bruce's heart cracks right down between the valves.

"Since she passed, I'm afraid it hasn't gotten much use. Neither my parents nor I are very religious. But I think she'd like to know that it's been passed on to someone who would actually read it. And I'm not giving it away, it's staying in the family after all. Nothing is too good to be handed down to my  _son_."

He keeps the book held out, until slowly Jason stretches his arms back out and takes it. He cups it delicately in both hands like he's afraid to drop it. His fingertips shake a little as they drift over the gilded tissue-weight pages and brush over the embossed title. 

"Thank you," he whispers, clutching it protectively to his chest before throwing himself at Bruce, "It's beautiful."

Bruce slides to his knees and cranes his head down so he can wrap himself around his son. And he knows, in this instant, that no matter how much good he accomplishes in the suit, the best thing he has ever done and ever will do is standing in front of him.


End file.
